Time
by approachinglights
Summary: Time is a fickle little thing. It passes in a rush. And sometimes it doesn't pass at all. - reposted -


_I know this is not a new story, I published it almost 2 1/2 years ago after interning in the oncology ward for eight weeks and then took it down. I didn't think I'd ever re-upload it, but after spending the better part of the last four weeks in the oncology/pediatric oncology ward of the hospital, learning about cancer, learning about people's lives and their prognosis, which more often than not was not good, I decided to do it. It's what I needed after these emotionally draining four weeks. To tell a story. A story I have heard so many times over the past month._

_I wrote that story before I started med school, so my knowledge of acute myeloic leukaemia was very limited, so I apologise for any medical mistakes I might have made._

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything_

* * *

Time is a fickle little thing, like the moon or the stars, like the sun or the rain. They all come and go with the wind, leaving an empty void behind.

The first traces of dawn are already visible on the horizon. A new moment, a new day. At least they have that, this little slice of time, these little rays of sunshine. And the quiet kisses of the wind, the secrets they are currently whispering into his ear as he is standing by the window.

He is standing tall, a lone soldier in the red light, but just like so often it's just a mask, held in place by broken hands.

Little waves of exhaustion are rolling through his body; icy storms are raging inside his veins. Soon his bones and muscles will protest, his legs will give out and his mind will fail him.

There is no time, no moment but this.

Only that he realized it too late. The cards were all laid out, they had started the game, but the rules have changed and now he doesn't understand them anymore.

He doesn't understand much anymore, doesn't know how time works or why it rains. Why people have to vanish and go, leaving only footsteps behind, traces and scars, cracks inside a heart that won't heal, will never heal.

The breath he takes is sharp, cut off at the edges. His mind is betraying him and it is becoming hard and harder to swallow past the lump that's forming in his throat.

He won't break down, not here, not like this. Not when he has to be strong.

His body may be made of iron but his armor is filled with air.

And he can't breathe.

His fingers tighten around the window sill. He slumps against the frame; eyes slipping close as he tries to get his body under control and his breathing back to normal.

It's not easy, not when there is a dark hole inside his mind where all good things get sucked into. Not when worry and concern and fear have taken control of him, steering his mind into directions he doesn't want to go into and -

"Will you tell me a story?"

The sound of her voice breaks through the haze inside his mind, clear and warm like the sun that is awakening outside. He turns around slowly, his breathing steady, in and out. A rhythm, a constant. Something to hold onto.

She looks beautiful in the rising day, even when her cheeks are pale and the rings under her eyes are deep, even when her breathing is shallow. Even like this, but mostly because of all that.

Because despite everything it means that she is still here.

There is a small smile on her lips, just a gentle wave in her lips, a simple tug upwards, but the way her body trembles under the blanket, the way she clutches the fabric tighter around her, it tells him so much more.

Most of all it tells him that she is not okay.

"You're up", he says. He is still standing by the window, a statue frozen in time. Even though his fingers are itching to touch her, to run over her skinny arms and wrap around her tiny waist; his lips waiting to press to her forehead, nose, wanting to feel her own lips beneath them, hear the soft moan at the back of her throat when he kisses her, his feet are glued to the floor, unable to breach the distance between them.

Maybe it's because a small part of him, a dark hole inside his mind fears it isn't real, fears she will vanish beneath his fingertips when he touches her and all that will left behind will be foul air. When he breathes it in it will burn his lungs, he will suffocate and die.

"I couldn't sleep", she replies softly. Her hazel eyes are wide open and alert. They puncture him, boring holes into his body and digging up all of the secrets hidden underneath. A small sigh escapes the confines of her lips at the fear so clearly visible in his blue orbs. She bites her lip, her fingers curling around the blanket and she tugs at it, cocooning herself even deeper into the fabric until she drowns completely, only her head sticking out from beneath.

She is not whole anymore; she is a black hole, a body punctured by millions of little needles and soon they will puncture her lungs, too, and her heart and then, and then…

"I was cold", she adds quietly, waiting for the words to sink in, for his eyes to widen in concern and –

In two long strides he has crossed the room and is falling down onto the bed next to her, arms and legs tangling with hers.

They once were one.

His hand presses to her forehead, his cool fingers meeting burning skin. Bile rises in his throat; his fingers tighten where they are wrapped around her arm, nails digging into her paper skin. She flinches and he presses his lips to her cheek, mumbling an apology against her face as his body wraps around hers and he holds her close, closer and oh, her body is so frail. So small and frail.

She once was built of stone, but her foundation was brittle and now she is crumbling from the inside, far, farther down. Soon there won't be anything left of her but a few stones, remnants of what once was.

She is so small. Her layers have been ablated and now all that's left is a thin shell and –

"Rick" her breathing is warm and hot and _real _against his clavicle, her heartbeat strong beneath his fingers as they curl around her shirt, right between her breasts. "It's okay. I am okay."

He bites his tongue, forces the words back into his throat and farther down, his hand wrapping around her wrist, his thumb at her pulse point. Dadum, dadum.

She is not okay. She is not okay at all. Even if her heart is still beating, even if her pulse is still strong and so are her lips against his as she kisses him, she is not okay.

There is no time. No more time, no more. The tears well up in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks and she breaks the kiss to look at him.

Her lips move inwards as she swallows, takes a deep breath, forces her eyes to dry and her vision to clear. Then her lips are on his cheek, tongue gently tracing the way of his tears, kissing them away one by one. He shivers when she exhales against him, her hot breath making goose bumps erupt on his skin.

She is here, right next to him. Real and alive, but there is no time. No time, no –

"Rick, story." He admires the way she manages to keep her voice this strong, even when he knows she is breaking underneath as well. It is audible in the way her voice cracks, the deep abyss at the end. They will both fall into it.

He pulls back slightly, takes her in, the way her body is glowing in the light, like a goddess, maybe Venus, or like a star. She follows his movement to lean back against him, her fingers wrapping around his arm to pull him tighter around her.

Her body is the rocky ocean, trembling with the storm, but her hands are strong, they are holding on, onto him and onto life. She is still here. He wraps himself around her and together they rise and fall in strong waves.

He takes a deep breath, exhales quietly into her ear, feels her shiver beneath him; hears the soft sigh at the back of her throat. His lips find the back of her head, trace along the bare paper skin and brittle bones.

She is still here. There is no moment but this.

"Out on the sea, a dark storm rages…" he starts, his voice filling the room in deep layers, calm and quiet.

Outside the sun has risen.

* * *

At one point she fell asleep, her body slumping backwards until her head was lying in the crook of his neck. He kissed her gently, traced her curves of her face with his fingers.

He does that now, every chance he gets, memorizing the curves of her body as if he was touching it for the last time.

Maybe he is. He was always an optimist, always managed to keep a positive outlook on things.

Just not when it comes to her. When it comes to them.

They have gambled one too many times. At one point they will have to lose.

He lays her down gently onto the pillows, presses his lips to hers one last time. Then he gets up.

His body protests in exhaustion as he walks to the coffee machine. He feels empty and full, heavy and too light. Too many different wrong things at once. Just not whole, just not okay.

The hot liquid tastes bitter on his tongue, burns his throat on the way down. He takes a gulp then throws the rest of the coffee into the trash.

When he gets back to the room the doctor is already waiting for him. She is a pretty girl, young and blonde, with a kind voice. When he was a child, he always thought doctors were superheroes because they saved people.

He knows better now. Or maybe he has just lost his faith. It doesn't really matter. Doctors are not superheroes, they don't save, cannot heal all wounds, cannot perform magic, cannot stop the inevitable from happening.

He takes a deep breath, mumbles a quick hello.

"The fever came back", he adds quietly. "She is sleeping right now."

The doctor's brows furrow. Something in her eyes changes, the darkness inside them gaining strength. Her fingers tighten around the pencil she is holding and then she nods, just the slight movement of her head.

"Okay", she mumbles softly, takes a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you alone anyway."

And then, just like that, he knows. Maybe it's in the way she is looking at him, her own sadness barely concealed in her eyes. Maybe it's because he already knew. Something had been growing in his heart, ever expanding, the knowledge that maybe, maybe the invincible Katherine Beckett would not come back from this unscathed.

It's not like it matters. They are all the same things, black and blue and white. What matters is that he knew.

What matters is that it tears him apart, little bits and pieces breaking off. It won't take much for him to shatter, break and fall and then explode. The stars are too far, he will burn in the sky and then fall back down again.

Something rises in his throat, an ever-growing lump. His fingers wrap around the doorframe, he holds onto it for support as his legs give out beneath him.

"Don't say it", he manages to choke out. "Please don't."

"I am sorry", the doctor says, swallows. Her hand comes out to touch him, wrap around his, but she only burns his skin, black marks settled against deep white.

He inhales, exhales, fingers clenching around the wallpaper, tight, tighter, forcing his thoughts away. No, no. This is not the truth. He won't accept this. He can't accept this.

He can't. They are one, there is a part of her that is him and part of him that is her and if she dies then, then…

"There must be something you can do. Find another donor. Or…something…please…" his eyes slip shut, hot tears coming out from beneath the lashes.

His body is frozen and burnt, his mind empty and full and he can't…he just…how can this be true? They have been through so much, have won so many wars, smashed down walls and built new foundations with the stones. It can't be true.

"Money is not an issue, please…just…"

The doctor steps closer, engulfs him in a soft hug, her warm body pressed against him, holding him up. Or down, somewhere in between.

"I am so sorry", she speaks into his trembling neck, her lips at the rim of his shirt, her breathing hot against his shoulder. "The leukemia is back and it's coming back too fast. We…there is nothing we can do anymore."

Just like that, he gets blown into the wind. His body is light; it can't withhold the forces of the air. The wind smashes him around, right to left until he doesn't know where he is and what's going on and all that he knows is that this is the ending. There is no time left, no more, no more.

"How long?" he asks, repeats it again, again and again. The pain spreads through his body like wildfire, it tears him apart, he is falling and this time the height is too great, he won't survive the impact.

"A few days, maybe one or two weeks."

And then there is nothing, just a black hole that swallows him and eats him from the inside.

He shivers in the dark, blind and naked and empty. So, so empty.

He doesn't know how he makes it into the washroom. There is nothing in his stomach to throw up but he is bowed over the toilet bowl anyway and he is heaving until there is nothing in him anymore just a big void, just the knowledge that she will die.

She can't die. Not when they have only just gotten here. Now that he finally has her, he can't give her up, can't go back to only having shards and pieces, memories and traces in his heart, images of a few kisses and stolen nights, little moments. Not when he knows how great they could have been, how they could have conquered the world.

This is not how it was supposed to be, they were supposed to have more time, be more, so much more and how…how is he supposed to do this? How is he supposed to come back from this when he finally knows what he was looking for and –

It hurts. So much. Like someone stole the stars and the moon and the sun, too and now it's cold. So cold even the world has frozen.

It's not turning anymore; there is no movement, not right or left or up or down. No light before dawn and none after. Not like this. It can't happen, it can't. She can't die.

No. No, she can't die.

Time is a fickle little thing. It passes in a rush. And sometimes it doesn't pass at all.

* * *

At one point he manages to walk back to her room. He is on autopilot, his feet carrying him along the familiar hallway on their own volition.

She is awake when he steps into her room. Leaned against the headboard, she is quietly watching him from afar. He comes closer, takes her hand in his but somehow it doesn't feel real anymore, somehow he feels like he has already lost her, even though she is still there, even though their fingers are tangled and she is squeezing his hand with everything that's in her.

She knows. The way her lips curl upwards into a sad smile tells him that much, but then she speaks up, voices it.

"I am going to die, right?", she asks quietly.

Her voice wavers at the end, breaks, falls into the abyss. It's what undoes him. His fingers curl around her arm, his body wrapping around hers until every line of them is pressed together and all he can feel is her. Her.

She is still breathing, still warm and soft, strong heartbeat, gentle voice. She is still here, but she is not here to stay.

"It's okay", she manages to murmur into his shoulder blade, but it's not. It's not, it's not, it's not. They both know it, feel it, in the way they cling to each other, the way their tears mix as their cheeks press against each other, salty oceans washing them clean.

Washing them clean until there is nothing left but their feeble bones, covered by skin too thin, kaleidoscope hearts beating in their chests.

She can't die. She is still here, he is holding her trembling body, she is breathing against his neck, her heartbeat steady beneath his fingertips. She can't die. How can she die when she is here and real and alive? How can she….how can she die?

Sobs shake his body, they rack them both, tearing them apart and then pushing them together again. The cracks are widening, they can't balance anymore, they fall and shatter in time to the earth moving beneath their feet.

And suddenly she can't take it anymore. Pushing him away she straightens up, her fingers brushing over her cheeks, trying to wipe the traces of her tears away. They remain etched into her face even as she rubs furiously until the skin turns red.

"Will you get me some tea?", she asks. His hand wraps around hers, fingers mixing and becoming one but she pulls back, retreating to the end of the bed.

"Kate, I…"

"Please, Rick", she cuts him off, the cracks in her voice betraying her and he relents, pulling back slowly and then pushing off.

No more time. He watches her from the end of the bed.

The sound of his footsteps walking away from her, it breaks her heart, breaks her.

She is going to die. Cease existing. Disappear into, into –

She doesn't know where she will go; only that it won't be here, with him. And it's not fair. She conquered her walls, managed to climb the hills, became more.

It's not fair. They were supposed to have more time, get married, have children, grow old together. Die in one another's arms when they were rocky and grey, with their grandkids assembled around them.

It's not fair that she won't get to see the sunrise anymore, wake to calm kisses across her stomach, walk along the shore and see the stars. That she won't get to see her children. That she will have to leave her friends, her father.

She doesn't want to be a distant memory, doesn't want to be a star at night. She doesn't –

Tears are running down her cheeks in streams. She has accepted her death in many situations, but somehow she has always been victorious. But now her own body is rebelling, slowly stabbing her from behind and she can't let go, she can't. She wants to live, she doesn't want to leave.

And she doesn't want to leave behind. Because she might be going, but others will stay. And she knows, from this moment on, wherever he goes, he won't see what's there, the sunshine, stars and moon, laughter and smiles. All he will see is that's she's missing.

All he will be able to see is her absence.

This is…it's not fair. Life is not fair.

She takes a deep breath. The air still fills her lungs, her heart is still beating. A little bit of time, the last few meters of the river before the waterfall.

Her eyes slip shut, she calms her breathing, tries to grasp, to accept. But it's too slippery. She is used to situations being over fast, almost dying in a rush, not quiet and calm like this.

It's so much harder, so much more difficult to accept.

And she can't let go. She can't. Not when there is still so much life to live, so many things to do, so much to experience.

She –

A small sigh escapes her lips as she tries to swallow her tears just as he comes back into the room, quiet footsteps on the floor. He looks older, broken bones and bruised skin. He has already been sucked into the darkness.

He won't survive this. And if anything, this is what breaks her most, knowing that she is leaving him behind.

She swallows again, takes a deep breath and stretches out her hand.

"Thank you", she says when he hands her the tea.

He lies down next to her, arms wrapping loosely around her stomach, his breathing steady against the side of her face.

She can't let go. Not like this. This is not enough.

She takes a deep breath.

"Promise me something", she whispers. His fingers tighten around her waist, his breathing stopping for a moment. Her eyes close, open again, just a small sniff of the darkness that will soon eat her up.

"I am not sure I can, Kate", his voice is grave, devoid of everything, devoid of all hope. She can't let go. Not when she is leaving him behind like this.

"Promise me you will write Nikki a different ending."

His eyes fly up to hers. Something changes in them, a change of color, a change of direction. He opens his mouth, closes it again. It takes a moment before he manages to speak, quiet whispers in her ear.

"I don't think I am going to write much more after this."

Her fingers trail along his arm, up his shoulder and throat until they reach his jawline. She cups his cheek firmly in her hands, turns his head until they are looking directly into each other's eyes.

"You have to.", she says quietly. "You owe it to her. You owe it to me. You owe it to us."

"Kate…" he starts speaking, but she clamps her hand over his mouth, letting his words blow into her fingers. They dance against his skin.

"No." her voice is strong, holding on to this. She needs him to give her this. This is how they started. This is their story. "We deserve it. She deserves the happy ending we didn't get."

He blinks back the tears that are forming in his eyes and she leans in, kissing his eyelids softly. His arms tighten around her and then he is crying again, hot tears beating against her trembling skin.

She bites her lip to hold back the oceans that are raging inside her, digs her nails into his shoulder blade, deep and deeper.

"What am I supposed to write?" he chokes out. "How am I supposed to write after…"

The tears seep out from beneath her eyelashes, too, fall into his hair, part of her flowing into him. They once were one, they still are.

"Because you are going to do it for me." She murmurs into the vicinity of his ear, her lips gently tickling his skin. He shivers. "Because I am going to be watching you. And because I need this, you need this. We both need her to be happy. With Rook."

Her voice breaks off at the last words, they tumble into the cracks, the abyss, fall and die and she bites her tongue. This is not fair. She doesn't want to leave, she can't, she can't – but she will have to. Go, vanish, disappear.

Be nothing, or something.

She will be there, traces and footsteps, memories and scars in the heart.

She will be there, but she won't. It won't be enough; it will be so much less than enough.

But it will have to do. It will. There is nothing else but this.

No moment but the one that's here. She holds him closer, relishing in the way his breathing feels against her lips, the way everything just seems lighter when he kisses her.

He holds her closer, fingers wrapping around her legs and arms and her, alive and breathing, here right next to him.

They hold each other. Hold each other until there is no more pain and fear. Hold each other until they don't feel anything anymore.

Hold each other until all that matters is the other person. And this one stolen moment, this one more piano note, the last chapter of their story.

* * *

_I am so sorry. But, as my prof pointed out: that's life. And it's unfair and terrible but it's also life. We don't have anything else._

_If you feel helpless right now and like you want to do something, anything, please consider donating bone marrow. Getting tested is really easy and doesn't hurt at all, you just have to get swabbed. Just google deleting blood cancer and find out about the rules in your country. There are so many people who desperately need a transplant, you could save a life. _

_The title is a reference to Hans Zimmer's piece "Time" from the Inception soundtrack. Go listen._

_I hope you're having a good day._


End file.
